


When Hell Froze Over

by Crollalanza



Series: Sports Fest 2018 Haikyuu!! [16]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Hospitals, M/M, Unconsciousness, car crash, everyone in hq-verse plays for the national team obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 05:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15163799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: In Hokkaido to cover a ski tournament, Hajime's night is interrupted by the worst possible news. The National team coach has been involved in a traffic accident, and Oikawa is badly injured. Getting to Tokyo through the snow is one problem, but the more insurmountable one might be the obstacles put in his way at the hospital and their policy of admitting family only.





	When Hell Froze Over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amalas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amalas/gifts).



> This was from a prompt for Sportsfest 
> 
> 'But god, I look at you and know.  
> Hell is just another place I guess I'll go  
> to keep you warm.'
> 
> The first part of this story is based on a comic drawn by the amazing viria where Tooru tries to catch a beetle for Iwa-chan.

_'But god, I look at you and know._  
_Hell is just another place I guess I'll go_  
_to keep you warm.'_

When Iwa-chan was eight and three quarters, Tooru had caught a beetle for him. He’d wanted to bring him a butterfly or a moth, because Iwa-chan said he wanted to be a Lepidopterist (Tooru remembered the word and practised it continually so he could say it correctly when Iwa-chan was around) but his mum had said trapping them in jars was cruel, so he’d decided on a beetle instead. 

Iwa-chan was in bed with tonsillitis, and Tooru hadn’t been allowed to visit, so he knew that catching the beetle was only the start. Sneaking in would be harder and lead to more than a grazed knee. But for his friend, for Iwa-chan, he’d dare. 

“How did you get in?” Iwa-chan rasps. 

“Your mum is talking to your neighbour and she left the door open so …” It doesn’t sound at all impressive when he tells it like that, but then he’s left out the part when he’d sat in the stairwell for an hour waiting for his chance. Besides, Iwa-chan really doesn’t look that well now he’s close up. He struggles to sit up, and his eyes are red and puffy. He sips from a glass of juice, and finds it hard to make conversation. 

“Anyway,” Tooru says after a short while because he’s turned up when he shouldn’t and it’s clear his mum and Iwa-chan’s mum were right and Iwa-chan isn’t up to having visitor. “I better go. Just wanted to bring you the beetle.”

But Iwa-chan reaches out for a pad of paper and scrawls, _Tell me about the beetle. Where did you find it?_

So he stayed and did most of the talking, and although Iwa-chan nestled back on his pillows and closed his eyes, he chuckled when Tooru describes the tree trunk he found the beetle under and how he’d caught his shorts on a branch and they’d ripped.

The next week, Tooru’s in bed with tonsillitis and has to miss volleyball practice, but Iwa-chan visits every day after school and brings him an alien key ring he bought from a vending machine.

 

***

 

Hajime is in Hokkaido when he hears the news. It’s cold, snow lying thick on the ground, and he’s stuck in a hotel room, with no intention of leaving for another three days.

But he’s watching the sports channel before turning in for the night, and of course they report on it. He sits, the remote in his hand, too stunned to think straight for a while.

It’s his phone that drags him from his atrophy. A harsh ring, jerking him to sense.

“Makki!” he practically yells in answer.

“You’ve heard?”

“Just now and only from the TV. Where is he?”

“Tokyo General.”

“And what are they saying?”

“Nothing. They won’t release details over the phone,” Makki’s voice hitches. “They think everyone calling’s Press.”

 _Which won't help me at all._ “Yeah, got it. I’ll see what I can do and get back to you. Okay?”

“Sure. I’m going to go to Tokyo, anyway. What about you?”

He stares out of the window, at the snow still falling. .  Hajime’s heard the term a blanket of snow so many times it makes his eyes roll, but outside is so white, it really is like a huge quilt has wrapped itself around the town leaving it featureless.

The airport is closed, the roads will be an ice trap. It’ll have to be the Shinkansen, but  it could be booked up.

“I’ll get there,” he replies.

He tries calling, but either the phones are switched off, or they’re ignoring him. (He strongly suspects the latter, then kicks himself because if they’re already at the hospital, then they’re not going to want to speak to anyone.) Oikawa’s sister doesn’t answer either, but then she could be driving, so he sends her a text asking for any updates. She’ll reply when she can, of that he’s sure.

There’s a contact name in his phone which he’s never deleted, one which possibly doesn’t work anymore, but it’s someone who might know, who might be able to bring him more news, so he takes a deep breath before he types **, <Kageyama-kun. This is Iwaizumi Hajime. I’ve heard about the accident. Is there any news?>**

He doesn’t dare hold his breath as he waits for a reply, but instead pulls his clothes from the wardrobe and stuffs them in his case.

The receptionist makes an expression he can only describe as ‘agape’ when he insists he’s checking out.

“To another hotel?” she asks, blinking.

“No. I’m leaving Hokkaido.”

“The roads are icy,” she protests, buts she can see he’s resolute and makes up his bill.

“I only need to get to the train station,” he says, giving a grim smile.

He pays up, slings the bag over his shoulder and heads off to find his car.

Unlike Tokyo, which grinds to a halt whenever more than a flake of snow dares to settle, Hokkaido has managed to clear the main roads. The gritters and snowploughs have been out in force and although it’s not a clear run, he manages to leave without too much difficulty.

It’s when he’s pulled up in the station car park that Kageyama’s message flashes through.

**_< Three  of the team injured. Oikawa-san is unconscious. Kyoutani  has broken his ankle. Narika has a dislocated hip.>_ **

He can barely breathe. **< Any other injuries for Oikawa?>**

 ** _< Not sure,>_** comes the reply. **_< Kuroo-san said he was having a scan.>_**

Not out of the woods then.

 **< And you?>** he asks, aware it’s a belated question, and he should have got to it sooner.

**_< Few bruises. Hands are fine.>_ **

And Hajime almost laughs at Kageyama’s main concern, almost, because that would be Oikawa’s first worry too.

The snow is packed hard and icy underfoot, but he slides and skids his way to the station, not caring if he slips because he has to get back, he has to be there, no matter what is right or proper, he needs to be in Tokyo. To be with Oikawa. To hammer down every fucking door in the place to be by his side.

The bullet train takes a little longer in the inclement weather, but he’s there in four hours, feeding off scant updates from Kageyama, and a text from Kyoutani who’s clearly in pain and angry but still finds time to reply to his old senpai’s text.

**_< Oikawa-san’s still out of it. He was in front of me on the coach and had stood up so got flung against the window.  Banged his head.>_ **

Shit!

**_< His parents have arrived. Made a lot of noise about moving him to a better hospital, but the doc doesn’t want him moved yet.>_ **

**< Thanks, Kyoutani.>**

**_< They’re assholes. This hospital’s good.>_ **

_Yeah, but since when have they not equated throwing money at something as the answer to their prayers._

Kyoutani’s ankle is being set under anaesthetic  when Hajime arrives, but Kuroo’s in the waiting room, and he gets to his feet when he bowls in.

“He’s had a scan,” he reassures  quickly. “He’s okay. No bones broken, nothing dislocated. Just the bang to his head.”

“But still unconscious.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not unexpected,” Kuroo replies and reaches out to tug Hajime closer. “His parents are here. Sister’s flying back from Bali. I wanted to see him but … uh …”

“Family only. Yeah, I thought so.” He wipes his face with his hands, as if scrubbing at his skin will somehow scrub away the horror of the day.  “Where is he?”

“End of the corridor.” Kuroo doesn’t try to dissuade him, but accompanies him along the brightly lit hallway bustling with nurses trying to reassure scared patients while remaining efficient.

There’s a group of three outside the far room. Hajime recognises two of them and realises from the coat the other is a doctor, and although he should probably hang back and wait his turn, he strides forward not even bothering with the pleasantries of a greeting. (She’d rather he didn’t exist anyway, so why further burden her with an acknowledgment?)

“How is he?” he blurts out.

They’ve all turned before he’s asked the question and Tooru’s mother instinctively huddles into her husband, but the doctor stares at this fresh face and hesitates before replying.

“Are you a relative?”

“Not exactly,” Hajime replies, staring only at the doctor. “We live together.”

There’s a pause and then Tooru’s dad says, “He’s unconscious. They’re hoping he’ll wake up sooner rather than later. We’re …” He swallows and holds out a phone. Tooru’s phone. “We’re trying to access his music on this because if he listens to something he’s familiar with…” There are tears in Tooru’s father’s eyes. “We don’t know what he listens to anymore and—”

Taking the phone without question, Hajime punches in the code (1414) and flicks to the music. Up comes the last song Tooru had been listening to, and it’s a punch to gut seeing the title tickertape across the screen. Not one of Tooru’s favourites, but one of Hajime’s from a playlist he’d made him long ago. And he doesn’t know why it surprises him because they’d exchanged playlists at nineteen and although they profess to hate each other’s music, Hajime listens to Tooru’s choice every night they’re away.

“Familiar sounds, voices, even smells will help,” the doctor murmurs.  “Perfume, cologne, favourite foods?”

“He likes…liked… milk pan.” His mum stumbles on the tense, and for the first time Hajime looks directly at her.

The last time he’d seen her, she was unyielding and frozen, the chips of ice had spitting out hatred and revulsion. But here she’s different, and it’s as if the snow has melted but what’s underneath hasn’t preserved well. She’s grey in the face, make-up smeared down her face and hair in disarray. And he wonders if the estrangement has made this all worse for her.

“He still likes milk pan,” he assures her . “And pastries. And hot coffee.”

“Black coffee,” says the doctor. He half smiles. “He mentions in interviews that he gets through gallons of it when analysing games at night.”

Hajime chuckles. “He tells everyone he likes it black, but really he likes caramel latté with a twist of nutmeg.”

“You know him well,” the doctor replies.

“They’re childhood friends,” says Tooru’s mum.

“He’s as good as family,” his dad adds. He touches Hajime on the arm. “Why don’t you see if you can wake him up?”

The doctor agrees, so Hajime steels himself, rolling his shoulders and trying to steady his breath because he doesn’t know what awaits him. He’s been assured that there’s nothing else wrong with Oikawa apart from a knock to his head, but what if they were lying? What if his face is smashed in, or he’s had to have a limb amputated. What if he’s unrecognisable, or they’ve pulled the wrong person from the wreck and Oikawa’s still lying trapped somewhere. _Leaving both of us in hell._

Tooru’s beautiful.

There are wires attached and his hair’s a little matted with blood, but nothing has marred his face, and his unmarked bare chest rises and falls in time to the monitor.

“Hey,” Hajime whispers, stepping closer. “I can’t leave you for a single day, can I?”

There’s no answer, not even a twitch of an eyelid, but then he’d not gone in expecting a miracle. Instead he sits by Oikawa’s bedside and reaches out to clasp his hand.

“Remember when I had tonsillitis,” he says. “Think it was the first time I realised you weren’t a complete asshole. ‘Course the beetle didn’t agree.”

But they’d let the beetle free together but not before Hajime’s interest had switched from Lepidoptorology to Coleoptorolgy.

“When you wake up and get out of here,” he mutters, squeezing Tooru’s hand, “you can buy me ramen. And Makki’s on his way, so he’ll want some too. Never know, we might get Mattsun to visit. And you probably owe Kyoutani a bowl.”

Tooru’s parents take the opportunity to have a break, his dad telling Hajime they’re going to the hospital café. He brings out Tooru’s phone, presses play and places it on Tooru’s pillow. He’s not slept, the journey and the news keeping him on high alert, but here in the hospital room, his eyelids are lead. He’s lulled to sleep to the soporific rhythm of Tooru’s heart and breath, and the music with its faint _tchin tchin_ sounding in his ear.

 

(They’re on court, in white and turquoise. It’s Hajime’s first match for the team. He’s not their Ace, he’s a sub at best, and yet Oikawa sends him a toss of such sublime quality that as Hajime jumps for it, he knows the spike is going to look impressive. Oikawa designed it to show Hajime in the best light, and soon after that game he became a regular.

Oikawa ruffles his hair after the game. ‘Iwa-chan played well. The girls might notice you at last!’)

_Huh!  That didn’t happen._

He jerks awake to the sensation of fingers carding his hair, fingers caught in the knots and tangles.

And he barely dares to breathe, or to call out for the doctor, but Tooru’s eyelids are flickering.

“That music is horrible. Turn it off, Iwa-chan.”

“You asshole!” he replies and chokes out a laugh.

“Why aren’t you in Hokkaido?” Tooru mumbles, his eyes still closed. “Is the ski tournament over?”

“Don’t know,” Hajime replies, lifting Tooru’s hand to his lips. “Don’t care. Had to see you.”

“Did you bring me an alien key ring?” To anyone else, this would sound like delirium caused by the bump on the head, but Hajime knows Tooru’s fine, and his heart soars.

“No time.”

“Iwa-chan’s hands are cold,” Tooru grumbles and shifts in his bed.

His eyes prickling  with hot tears, Hajime squeezes tighter..  “Then it’s a good job you’re here to warm them for me, eh.”


End file.
